Hell in a hospital
by Sameuspegasus
Summary: Sam has a vision that doesn't stop coming, and is taken to Princeton-plainsboro. Can House and his team fix Sam before all hell breaks loose?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.

"FBI agents Green and Brown, ma'am. We'd like to ask you a few questions concerning your husband, if you don't mind." Dean flashed her his badge, and his most winning smile. Nice, he thought. He wouldn't mind trying her on for size. He stepped through the door, feeling Sam's glare on the back of his neck.

Mrs Hadley – Theresa, as she had insisted on them calling her, lead them through to the kitchen.

"I don't understand," she said, "I answered all these questions already, to the other agent. Why have they sent you instead?"

Dean winced. He'd been hoping they had got in early. He smiled again. "The department's been having a little trouble with him lately... he suffered an unfortunate mishap recently, and hasn't been quite right since. " He broke off as Sam caught his eye. It was the 'stop talking right now' look.

"I'm sorry, we just need you to answer a few more questions." Sam was all business. He lead her over to the table, and sat her down. Dean wandered around the room, unobtrusively inspecting for signs of sulphur. Yes, there it was. Thick yellow powder coating the windowsill. This was their spirit alright.

Dean was just turning to give Sammy the sign, when he heard the familiar moan of pain that signalled a vision was coming. He had to get Sam out fast. "Thank you, that's all we need for now," he told Theresa pleasantly, interrupting a long and tearful account of her last conversation with her husband. He went over to Sam, to get him out before she suspected anything, but it was too late.

The vision rushed upon Sam, hitting him like a truck. It was bright, and vivid, and his whole body was wracked with pain more intense than anything he had ever felt. He clasped his head in his hands, and bent over the table.

Dean reached him, took his arm, tried to drag him away, but Sam could not move. And then he started screaming.

Theresa was feeling a bit hysterical. One minute, the FBI agent had been asking all these questions, weird ones about her husband's dreams, and looking at her with such concern she couldn't help telling him everything, and the next he was clutching his head and screaming. The other FBI guy, who to be honest, had seemed a little sleazy, hadn't seemed worried at first, but now he was almost crying, going "Sam! Sammy! Come on man, wake up Sam..." He tried to get the screaming agent up, but Sam collapsed on the floor. Then Theresa saw that his eyes were open, despite his face contorting in pain, and he looked absolutely terrified. Theresa really started to freak out then.

"Don't just stand there you stupid bitch! Call an ambulance!" Dean shouted. Sammy was still screaming. It had been at least five minutes. His visions never lasted this long, and now Sam was rolling on the floor, curled up and holding his head. "Sammy, it's OK, help is coming. We're going to get you to the hospital. You're gonna be fine," Dean told his brother, more for his own benefit than Sam's, because it didn't seem like Sam could hear him. He stroked his brother's hair and waited.

The ambulance took ages to come, and Sammy didn't stop screaming even as the paramedics came through the door. They pushed Dean out of the way, and gave Sam some kind of shot. Sam went limp, but his eyes did not close, and the scary vision look remained. He moaned. The paramedics loaded him onto a stretcher and took him out to the ambulance.

"Who's riding with him?" One of them asked, gruffly, looking at Theresa. They seemed to think she was Sam's girlfriend. Dean pushed past her.

"Me. Just hurry up."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.**

**This story takes place during season 2 of Supernatural and season 6 of House. A little messed up, but I figure I am in charge here, so I can mess with the space-time continuum all I want.**

"Sam Gunn." House slapped the file on the table and waited for his ducklings to gather around. "23. Brought to the emergency room yesterday under heavy sedation, after suffering severe head pain and possible hallucinations. Thirteen, get a complete history from the brother. Chase and Adulterer, search the home for toxins. Black guy, do whatever it is you do. Go."

"Shouldn't we do a differential? What's so interesting about this guy? It's probably just a bad migraine," protested Chase, without any real conviction.

"Oh, so now you're afraid to break the law," retorted House. Chase shut up and followed the others out.

"Mr Gunn?" Thirteen asked.

The young man looked up. He was handsome, in a tough kind of way. His businesslike suit was crumpled, like he had slept in it, although judging by the rest of his appearance, he hadn't slept for days. "Yeah?" he said.

"I just need you to answer a few questions concerning your brother's medical history. He doesn't seem to have anything on his record, but we need to know everything, even if it doesn't seem relevant. Has anything like this happened before?"

"What, the screaming and writhing on the floor in pain? No."

"Any hallucinations?"

Mr Gunn stood up and walked purposefully toward her. "Sam's not crazy. Just fix him. Now."

Thirteen put that down as a yes.

"Any previous illnesses? Injuries? Anything else?"

Sam's brother was looking at her strangely. "He broke his hand last year."

"What about recently? Any unusual behaviour? Nightmares? Sleepwalking? Irritability?" This was like wringing water out of a stone. There was something strange about the Gunn brothers.

"The address was a bust. Empty lot." Chase announced.

"History's no good either. A broken hand, possibly some hallucinations, a few nightmares. But there is definitely something the brother isn't telling us," Thirteen joined in.

"Patient is still in pain, maxed out on painkillers, and now he's burning up. Unresponsive to attempts to communicate. Appears to be hallucinating or possibly an having an abnormal night terror. The screaming wasn't just a response to pain; I think he's seeing something that terrifies him... Where are you going?" Foreman asked. But House was already out the door.

"So, Ned...Why are you lying to us?" The older Gunn didn't seem to recognise that he was being spoken to.

"NED!" House shouted.

'Ned' jumped, and automatically reached inside his jacket for his gun, before remembering where he was. "Yeah?"

"Why are you lying to us?"

"I'm not."

"Everybody lies. And Foreman here tells me your brother has the scar from a stab wound on his back. Drugs, is it? Prostitution? I bet you're his pimp. Tough guy like you, always ready to sort your bitches out."

"Just shut up, Dick. Make my brother better. That's your job, not to make stupid judgements about our lives. My brother is dying! If he dies, I swear-" 'Ned' broke off. Sam was waking up.

Sam jerked suddenly, like someone waking up from a dream, and blinked. Thirteen and Foreman rushed over to him, pushing his brother out of the way. House stood and watched. The patient was breathing hard, shaking, pale, and attempting to get out of bed. Foreman pushed him back in.

Sam struggled against the doctors, shoving Foreman with surprising strength. Foreman staggered back, and Sam was out of bed before they could stop him.

His legs collapsed, and he fainted into the arms of him brother, who had forced his way back to the bed. But before he passed out, he gasped three words. "Hell. Is. Coming."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. Sam and Dean and the House gang are not the result of my admittedly overactive imagination.**

_Sam was being burnt at the stake. He could feel the flames searing the flesh from his legs. The pain was worse than anything he had ever felt, including the time when he was 17 and had fallen through the floor of a haunted house from the third floor and been impaled on a metal bar. The smell of burning meat permeated the air. Blood was running from his wrists, where barbed wire secured him to the stake. He could hear it sizzling when it met the flames. But as he looked across the burning room, he forgot himself, because there was Dean. And there was a monstrous black bird-shaped demon eviscerating him and snacking on his intestines. Dean roared with pain, as he watched his insides come out. Sam roared too." DEAN! NOOOO! DEEEEAAAN!"_

Dean stood up angrily. The doctors were useless. A whole team of them. Four of them, and their master of puppets, whom Dean was half convinced was actually evil, and none of them were helping Sammy. They were just standing around asking him stupid questions about things that were both difficult to explain without incriminating himself and Sam, and irrelevant. They were wasting time, when there was none to waste. Sam had said it himself – Hell was coming. They needed him to wake up so they could stop it. And top it off, the dick in charge had just 'accidentally' called Sam Dean's lover again.

"Fix him," Dean commanded. "If Sammy dies, you die." He gave the doctor his most serious, threatening look, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation without being sent to the psych ward.

"Ooh, scary... I bet your boyfriend likes that," House smirked, "Now, why don't you tell me how Sammy-boy came to be carrying a fake FBI badge and a very large gun."

Shit, thought Dean. He had forgotten to clear Sam's pockets before the ambulance came. Quick, think.

Dean was saved from replying by the abrupt entrance of the Australian doctor, spouting a whole lot of medical mumbojumbo about fevers and hallucinations and convulsions.

"Convulsions? But he's on an anti-convulsant?" The hot lady doctor sounded confused. Dean didn't think confusion was a good sign. He started to speak, but was interrupted.

"I've never seen anything like it! He was unconscious, and his eyes suddenly opened and he went completely rigid, then started convulsing so violently we had to strap him to the bed. He's definitely hallucinating, by the way – he was screaming for someone called Dean," Chase added.

Dean went tense. Tenser, anyway. "He was screaming Dean? Do you know what he was seeing?"

"No, but he stopped convulsing suddenly. He's unconscious and is experiencing tachycardia and arrythmia. Where are you going? There's no visiting," Chase's protests fell on empty space. Dean was already on the way to his brother's room.


	4. Chapter 4

"Sammy?" Dean stood at the door of his brother's room, trying to peer around the very large nurse who barred his way.

"No visitors, sir."

"He's my brother! Let me in," Dean protested.

"I'm sorry sir, no visitors." The nurse folded her arms and blocked the doorway, an uncompromising expression on her face. Dean considered shoulder-charging her, but decided against it. The doctors were already suspicious. If they called the police and he was fingerprinted, there would be a whole lot of unnecessary prison escapage, wasting time. Sam had said hell was coming, and Dean had to stop it. He gave the nurse his cheeky grin.

"Dean?" Sam moaned.

"Sammy? Sammy, I'm right here. It's gonna be alright," Dean called.

"Dean, you have to get the car, it's coming here," Sammy sounded weak but insistent. "The car, Dean."

The car! Dean had forgotten about his baby. The impala was just sitting in the street, all alone. What if someone had stolen it? Or vandalised it? Or looked in the trunk? "It's OK, Sammy, I'm going to get the car. I'll be back really soon. Don't die."

"Jerk." It was quiet, but Dean heard it. He smirked.

"Bitch," he said.

Dean turned to leave, and almost crashed into the hot lady doctor. "Where are you going 'Ned'?" she asked.

_Crap_, thought Dean.

She didn't say anything else though, even though Dean knew she had heard everything. She just went into Sam's room with a look on her face that Dean recognised as the one where someone is saving a piece of information for later use. But there was nothing he could do, so he went to get the car.

XXX

The impala was right where he had left it. There was a parking ticket on the windscreen, but that was no big deal because the number plate was false. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. What had he been thinking, abandoning his baby like that? "I'm here now, baby," he said soothingly, and patted her roof before he opened the door and slipped behind the wheel.

Dean rocked out to 'Highway to Hell' on the way back to the hospital. Nothing like AC/DC to get you in the mood to save the world.

As he pulled into the parking space, he saw the puppet master standing by the hospital entrance, leaning on his cane.

"Nice wheels," said House, looking impressed, "1967 Chevy Impala. Well worth abandoning your boyfriend on his deathbed. Oops, did I say boyfriend? No, I meant boyfriend."

"Deathbed?" Dean froze.

"People don't come to me unless they are on their deathbed, Dean, is it? Hey, don't I know you? Yes, I think I do. You're Dean Winchester! Always pleased to meet a prison escapee who's wanted for murder, fraud, impersonating police, and grave desecration..."

House had a victorious expression on his face. Apparently he enjoyed messing people. "Hey, can I drive your car?" Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't called the cops.

"You haven't called the cops, have you?" he asked.

"Oh, hell no," said House, "I know what happens to people who call the police on wanted murderers. Don't want to get whacked."

Dean took a moment to thank providence for providing his brother a doctor who was obviously insane but very intelligent.

"Now, what symptoms has your brother really been experiencing? Grave robber? Heaps of cool stuff that could be."


	5. Chapter 5

The pictures slammed into Sam's exhausted brain once more. _Fire. Dark silhouettes of claws and wings and beaks moving in a frenzied dance against burning walls. Glass shattering. Blood. The screams of a handsome man in a white coat as talons rend his chest. Twisted plastic. Panicking patients stampeding. And all the time the smell of burning flesh and the pain on Dean's face as his intestines are eaten. _And then it was over, and he fell back, exhausted, shaking. He threw back the thin hospital blanket and climbed out of bed, catching himself on the edge as his legs gave way. He had to find Dean.

XXX

When Dean and House walked into House's office, House's team were all there.

"The patient is awake, but his delusions are increasing," the Australian doctor announced, "he tried to escape. Told me my lungs were going to be ripped out and eaten by a giant bird demon."

Dean tensed. He had never encountered a giant bird demon. Usually demons needed a human body to inhabit in order to walk on the earth. "What exactly did he say?" He asked.

"He said 'we have to go, they're coming, everyone is going to die, we have to find Dean,' and when I told him to calm down, he said..." Chase read from his clipboard, "'If we don't stop this, Hell will come, and you will have your lungs ripped out and eaten by a giant demon bird. We have to find Dean.' And then I sedated him."

"You did what? I have to talk to him!" Dean almost shouted.

"You just calm down there, no-one needs to get whacked," said House, and then told his team, "Better do what he says. Dude's a murderer. Go wake up loverboy. Any other news?"

"A murderer, is he?" The guy with the giant nose obviously did not believe House. House must say stuff like that all the time. "The blood work is back. Tox screen is negative for everything but a little alcohol, not enough to do any damage."

"Darn," House interrupted, "I was sure the dude was flying on drugs."

"The rest of the blood work was inconclusive. According to this, he has a normal white cell count, a normal red cell count, and an excessive number of a 'previously unidentified cell type'."

"Re-do the blood work with a new sample. Treat for everything."

"We can't treat for everything, we'll blow his liver!" protested Thirteen.

"Got a better idea? Hey, where did the murderer go? – No, not you, Chase, the other one."

XXX

Dean was in Sam's room. His brother was sleeping fitfully, probably due to the sedative and painkillers he had been given. Dean examined the machinery around the bed. The drip that went into Sam's arm was labelled with some long chemical name, and didn't say what it was for, but stopping it seemed like a good bet to wake him up. He ripped off the tape that held the needle in, and carefully pulled the needle out.

"What the hell are you doing?" The Australian doctor, who was shortly to lose his lungs, came into the room.

"Waking him up. I have to talk to him."

"Well, first of all, that's not the sedative, that's his heart medication, and secondly, you can't just barge in and take him off medications. Now, step away, or I am calling security." Chase tried to sound threatening, but it didn't work very well. Some people just aren't scary.

"Did you not hear him?" asked Dean, "Hell is coming, and if Sam is not awake and healthy, you are going to have your lungs ripped out by a giant bird! I need him to tell me what he saw!"

"I'm calling psych," said Chase.

XXX


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks for the reviews, and for reading this. They make my day. **

"Now, just calm down there, sir," the psychiatrist said in what she imagined to be a soothing voice. Dean gritted his teeth and glared at her. If she wasn't so irritating, she'd be just his type. Female.

"Mr Gunn, Ned, I understand that your brother is very ill. You feel powerless, and alone. Truly, I understand that. But you have to face the fact that he might not wake up. Sometimes good people get sick, and there is no escape from it. Now, why don't you tell me what you mean when you say 'Hell is coming'?"

Dean looked towards the door of the consultation room. There was a very large male nurse standing there. More like a guard really. No escape from the condescending questions and chick-flick discussion of feelings. It was like being in the car with Sam. Now, what to say to get out of here without a straight-jacket?

XXX

The sedative was wearing off. Sam's head was fuzzy from painkillers, and he was exhausted, and scared, but he had not had a vision for at least 10 minutes. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he knew he couldn't. "Dean?" he said. But Dean wasn't there.

Sam ripped the tape off his arm, and pulled out the needle. A drop of blood welled up from the hole. He carefully pulled electrodes off his chest. His heart monitor went crazy, so he pushed buttons until it turned off. He held his breath, but no nurses came. Dean had left a pile of clothes on the chair by the bed. Sam grinned. Nice. He put them on, and then had to have a rest because the world started to tilt.

Sam took a deep breath, and stood up. Leaning on the wall, he went to find Dean.

XXX

"So, the brother's a nut job, too. Genetic disorders that cause delusions, vivid hallucinations, night terrors, head pain, arrhythmia, convulsions, and fainting." House wrote the symptoms on the whiteboard.

There was a blank silence.

"Brain tumour," suggested Foreman.

"Any advance on Brain tumour? No? Go MRI his head. I'll consult our friendly neighbourhood oncologist."

"A brain tumour wouldn't cause psychosis in the brother though," said Thirteen, "It's extremely unlikely that they would both have one."

"Why must you wait until after I give my orders to place your argument? There was a perfectly good opportunity to say that before we decided what it was. You just don't want Foreman to be right."

"I don't think the delusions are a symptom."

"You don't think that believing that the gate to hell is going to open under the desk in the Dragon's Lair (by which I mean Cuddy's office), and giant Demon birds are going to rip out people's organs and eat them, and the world is going to end, is a symptom?"

"I think it's a toxin. My cousin's wife called me and asked how the FBI officer the ambulance collected from her place was. Apparently, they were impersonating FBI agents and asking all sorts of weird questions about my cousin's behaviour before he died. My theory is that they decided to play X-Files, or Men in Black, or something, and got a bit carried away and started to believe it. Then Sam took something, or accidently was exposed to some sort of drug that he had a bad reaction to."

"Well, that makes sense. Except for the clean tox screen, weird blood, and constant recoveries and relapses. Go MRI his head."

The ducklings dispersed, and House went to Wilson's office and banged on the window with his cane until Wilson left his patient and came out.

"What's the likelihood of two brothers both having a rare form of brain cancer?" House's pager beeped, "Gotta go. Booty call."

House limped back to his office. Chase stood by the table, looking guilty.

"You lost the patient? How do you lose a heavily sedated patient, who a few hours ago, could not walk?" demanded House.

XXX


	7. Chapter 7

What the hell was with all the plastic cutlery in this place? Did they not think patients could handle proper knives and forks? Sam had checked four rooms in a row, and there was not a piece of silver to be found. No salt either. This place was dangerously unprepared for a demon uprising. Sam smirked. What kind of a life did you have to be leading to be annoyed that a hospital was unprepared for a demon uprising?

"Sir? You can't be in here, I'm sorry. You'll have to – are you alright?" A young nurse asked, looking concerned. Sam nodded, taking a deep breath. The room had started spinning, and he leaned more heavily on the wall. But he recovered himself and stumbled out, making his way along the corridor. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he had two things on his list: find Dean, and then find the cafeteria in the hope that there would be silver there. It was unlikely that there would be, but he was suddenly starving, and might as well kill two birds with one stone.

Sam stopped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glass-fronted office, and inside, the young doctor he had seen having his lungs ripped out. An older doctor who had a cane was yelling at him. Sam couldn't hear what was being said, but it looked only marginally less unpleasant than having your chest ripped open by talons as long as your arm and sharper than razor blades. The young doctor looked like he wanted to yell back, but thought the better of it. There was a beautiful female doctor in the office too, who seemed to be trying to interrupt. Suddenly, she shouted something, and both men turned to look at her. Sam thought that it seemed like a good time to make his presence known.

"Can't even hold on to a nearly-dead patient! No-wonder Cameron left you!" House shouted. Chase flinched, and opened his mouth to yell back. He caught House's eye, and took in the waving cane, and decided against retorting. It wasn't even him that had lost Sam. How on earth had he got out without the nurses noticing? How had he got out at all? Two hours ago, he couldn't walk. Maybe the brother had had the right idea, taking him off the medication. No, no way. The brother wasn't even a doctor. Or entirely sane. Chase let House's yells wash over him, and began to think about the brothers.

"They aren't who they say they are," Thirteen was trying to say. It had no effect on House. She waited until he took a breath.

"SAMUEL AND DEAN WINCHESTER!" she shouted. House and Chase turned to her.

"How do you know that?" asked House.

"I heard Sam call his brother Dean. They were impersonating FBI agents when Sam got sick. There were silver bullets in the gun he had on him. I looked at the database of wanted criminals. It wasn't hard. They're wanted for fraud, identity theft, possession of illegal firearms..."

"Eluding a federal agent, two counts of jailbreak, grave desecration... oh, and Dean's wanted for murder," House finished.

"You knew about this?" demanded Thirteen.

"Murder?" said Chase, turning pale.

"You two should be good friends," House told him, "I bet you secretly lust after dead bodies too."

Chase was glaring at him, about to retort, when the door slammed open.

"Where's Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean was, at that moment, beginning to think that having his insides ripped out and eaten in front of him would be infinitely preferable to five more minutes of this.

"And how long ago did these 'demons' start appearing to you?" The psychiatrist asked him gently.

"Look," said Dean, reasonably, leaning across the desk, "I would be _more_ than happy to discuss this with you at a later date." He smiled charmingly. "If you just write your number down for me, we could talk about it over dinner, once the apocalypse has been averted."

The attractive blonde doctor did not seem amused. "No, Dean, I feel like we should discuss this now - what was that?"

Dean grabbed her, pulling her under the table, as the floor began to judder beneath them.

XXX


	8. Chapter 8

"What the hell?" said House, grabbing the table for support. The floor was shaking. A mug fell off the sideboard and shattered.

"Earthquake! Everybody under the table!" Thirteen announced. House groaned. He really did not like crawling.

"Not an earthquake," Sam corrected, from the doorway.

"Of course it's an earthquake, you idiot. The earth is quaking." House glared at the tall young man who was blocking the exit. He looked surprisingly healthy for someone who had been at death's door, not an hour and a half ago.

"Not an earthquake. Where's my gun? I'd say we have about 27 minutes until the world turns to fire and this guy's lungs get ripped out."

The three doctors stared at him incredulously. He must have been having these delusions for years to say that so matter-of-factly.

"I'm serious! We have to move! In about 15 minutes this whole room will be on fire and the exit will be blocked, and the demons will come and kill us all painfully! Look, I can prove it. It was in my vision. Another doctor, Dr Wilson, or Watson or something, is going to come into this office, and the floor is going to shake, and he'll fall over, and that book-" Sam pointed to a thick volume on the table, "-will land on his head."

"Shut up and get under the table."

"Thirty seconds," said Sam, but he got under the table just in case. "Ten... nine... eight...sev-"

"House? Are you in here?" Wilson opened the door and stepped into the room. The floor gave a great shudder, and he stumbled forward, sprawling on the floor by the table. The room quaked once more, and House watched in amazement as the heavy volume slid from the table.

"Watch out!" cried Chase.

"Guh!" said Wilson, as the book thudded into his head.

"Believe me now?" asked Sam, crawling out from under the table to check Wilson's pulse.

"Your gun's in my desk," said House.

XXXXXXXXX

"We have to get out of here," Dean told the shrink. She looked scared. Crap. Just his luck to be stuck with a panicked female during the demons' assault on the world. She looked like a crier, too. "Come on," he said, pulling her out from under the desk.

"But it's an earthquake," she said, "we have to stay here, the desk will protect us from falling debris."

"What's your name?" Dean asked, as the floor shuddered again, and he almost lost his footing.

"Sarah," she whispered, clutching his arm.

"Well, Sarah," he said calmly, as if talking to a small child, "We have to leave. This is not an earthquake. The demons are opening a gate to hell, and if we are here when hell escapes, we are going to die, and the world is going to end. Do you understand me?"

"Just calm down, Dean. I know this feels like the end of the world, but it's just an earthquake. It's your delusions that are telling you otherwise – argh!"

XXX


	9. Chapter 9

The building gave a great shudder, and with a loud crack, the floor opened beneath Sarah's feet. She shrieked as she disappeared through the crack, and landed with a thud on the floor below. Dean considered leaving her. Just for a second. She was really annoying. If she hadn't been such a cry-baby, intent on only believing what she thought was possible, she would never have fallen through the floor. It was her own fault, really.

"Dean? Dean? Help!"

Dean sighed, and slid through the crack, landing lightly on the ripped linoleum of the room below the consultation room. "Hi," he said to the somewhat surprised patient, who had somehow managed to avoid the debris, and was staring around the room dazedly. Sarah was lying on the floor under the crack, looking a bit hysterical. Dean bent over her.

"I think I broke my ankle... Dean, what is that? Over there? All that smoke? The building's on fire!" Her voice trembled. Dean looked up. Thick black smoke was disappearing into the patient's mouth. Dean looked around frantically for something silver. He grabbed Sarah's stethoscope and threw it at the demon, as hard as he could. It bounced off. The demon laughed. _Shit, stainless steel. What was wrong with this place?_

"Crap," said Dean, scooping up Sarah and running from the room, slamming the door behind them and wedging a piece of ceiling under the handle.

"Which way to the cafeteria?" he asked. He made a list in his head. Find salt and silver. Save Sammy. Save the world.

XXX

"Which way to the cafeteria?" asked Sam, as he finished loading his gun. It wouldn't kill a demon, but it would hurt like hell. The bullets were silver. One of those lodged in a demon's shoulder would burn. It would have to do until he got hold of a better weapon. Of course, the demons in his visions were unlike anything he had heard of. Most demons needed a human meat suit. Oh well, sometimes the plan had to be 'improvise and hope'. He wasn't telling the doctors that, though. They were coping surprisingly well, and he didn't want to ruin that.

"You're thinking of food at a time like this?" Thirteen sounded annoyed.

"I was leaning more towards whisky, but if you're paying..." House put in.

"We need salt and silver – be careful of the glass," Sam said, stepping through the doorframe. The glass had shattered in the last big shockwave, "and then you guys are leaving, and I am going to rescue my brother." His head hurt.

Sam followed Thirteen, as she led the way downstairs, to the cafeteria. He had to catch her by the arm, when the building trembled while they were in the stairway, and she nearly fell. But they made it to the bottom, and waited impatiently while House came down slowly, complaining about the torture of cripples. Chase followed soon after, supporting a semiconscious Wilson. Dozens of people rushed past them, panicking about earthquakes and buildings collapsing. Imagine if they knew what was really happening. An enormous cloud of black smoke streamed into the mouth of an elderly woman.

The old lady marched purposefully towards Sam, eyes black. She pushed people out of the way, with unnatural strength. A young man tried to help her down the stairs. He screamed as she threw him over the railing, and he fell several floors down the stairwell.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy..." the demon said, looking strangely menacing, despite the hair curlers and pink nightgown. It stretched a hand out towards Sam. He could feel its power pushing him backwards. He concentrated on counteracting it, staying where he was. Then he pulled out his gun and shot it.

It clutched its leg, smoke curling from where the silver was lodged in its flesh. The force released Sam, and the smoke rushed from the old lady. Sam shouted a few words in Latin, trying to remember an appropriate exorcism, but it had disappeared into the vent before it could have any effect.

"You shot that old lady!" Thirteen sounded aggrieved.

"You're a doctor! Fix her up," said Sam. He sagged back against the wall, exhausted from the effort of holding the demon off. He closed his eyes, and breathed deeply, fending off the waves of nausea that threatened to envelope him. Thirteen rushed over to the woman, and did some quick first aid. House, Chase, and Wilson reached the bottom of the stairs.

"What did I miss?" House asked.

"Are you ok, man?" Chase asked, concerned.

"Guh," said Wilson.

"I'm fine," said Sam, standing up straighter. "Where's the cafeteria?"

"Just through there," Chase told him, pointing through some double doors.

Through the doors, somebody screamed.

XXX


	10. Chapter 10

Why did they have to take his knife? Dean scowled as he lugged the panicking psychiatrist down the corridor. A ten year old with tractor pyjamas and jet black eyes was setting fire to the nurses' station. A comfortable-looking middle-aged nurse was praying in the corner. _Oh, that'll work, _thought Dean. _To stop, or not to stop? _On one hand, there was no way he could save everyone without weapons, and from the sounds of Sammy's visions, it was only going to get worse. On the other hand, a huge fire would severely damage the chances of anyone surviving. He stopped, putting down Sarah, not very gently. "Hey, you!" he shouted.

The demon turned. "Dean."

"Why are you doing this?" Dean asked it, furiously motioning for the praying nurse to extinguish the flames. He pointed to the fire extinguisher and mimed using it, while he kept the demon talking.

"Why here? Why now?"

"You know why, Dean. Little Sammy's very important to us. You're not, though. We just want to kill you. Painfully. You've caused us a lot of trouble."

"You aren't taking Sam."

"Really, Dean? He's weak. He's unarmed. He's separated from his heroic older brother, who is, if you hadn't noticed, also unarmed. There is no escape."

Dean stepped forward, ready to fight the thing with his bare hands. There was a thud, and the boy collapsed.

"Alright there, dear?" The nurse smiled at him, "No-one sets my station on fire." She wiped the smear of blood from the fire extinguisher, and turned to put out the flames. The black smoke poured out of the boy, and under a door.

"Thanks," Dean nodded at her. He picked up the psychiatrist and continued down the corridor.

It was bedlam on the next floor down. Alarms were ringing, and a loud voice was telling people over the intercom to calmly follow earthquake procedure, and all non-patients were to gather in the stairwells, the most structurally sound part of the building. No-one seemed to be listening, though. People were screaming, and running around. Small fires were springing up every few metres. Debris from collapsed ceilings blocked doorways. And all of the nurses, calmly giving directions, had solid, coal black eyes.

There was nothing Dean could do. Not till he saved Sam, and found some weapons. But still, he couldn't just leave them all there. A little girl, she couldn't have been more than two, was crying for her mother. And there was her mother, lying under a large piece of ceiling, and very obviously dead. Crap. Dean scooped the girl up in his other arm, and found an unused crutch lying on the ground to give to Sarah. He didn't like to think where the owner was.

"Follow me, people," he yelled, and herded as many people as he could into the stairwell.

"Where are we going?" someone asked.

"To the cafeteria," Dean replied, "It will be safest for you there."

XXXXXXXX

Sam pushed open the door to the cafeteria. "Everyone in," he said, pushing Chase and Wilson through.

Fire was blazing. It rushed from the stoves in the kitchen, out along the counters. The agonised shrieks of a woman burning alive ripped through the air. She was trapped behind the counter, and it was too late for help; they watched as she fell to the ground and the screaming stopped. Panicked diners were hiding under tables and stampeding for the exits. One man shoulder-charged the plate-glass window. Bursting through, he fell in a shower of glass to the ground far below. And everywhere, everywhere, clouds of black smoke billowed.

Salt, they needed salt. Sam glanced at the doors to the kitchen. Crap. The flames were chest-high across the doorway. There was no way they were getting in that way. OK, plan B. He looked around. _Fridge. Tables. Chairs. Water cooler. Fridge._ _Wait, water cooler..._ "Does anyone have a rosary?" He asked hopefully.

"Actually..." said Chase, pulling a string of beads from his pocket.

"You have a rosary? I thought god smote killers," House commented, unhelpfully.

"Do you know how to bless water?" Sam interrupted.

"Dude. I went to seminary school."

XXXXXXX

Chase sat helped Wilson across the crowded room to the water cooler, and sat him against the wall. He unscrewed the lid of the cooler, and dangled the rosary in the water, chanting the ceremonial Latin that he had thought was such a waste of time at seminary school. He repeated the prayer in English, just in case he'd got it wrong, and pulled the beads out. The water did not look any different. He took a cup from the dispenser and filled it.

A teenage girl approached, panicking and begging or help. But as she neared Chase, her eyes glowed black. He emptied his cup all over her face, and she flinched, her skin smoking. She glared at him, and moved away. Chase filled up another two cups, and dragged Wilson over to fill up more, telling him to give the cups of holy water to people with normal eyes, and splash it on people with black eyes. Wilson smiled agreeably, and began to fill cups.

Chase opened the fridge, propping the door with a chair. He pulled out the first bottle of water, and dipped in the rosary, beginning the chant: "Pater noster, qui es in caelis... holy shit!"

XXXXX


	11. Chapter 11

House wished everyone would just shut up and let him think. He wished he'd thought to bring his ball with him. Taking a black marker from his jacket pocket, he wrote on the wall: **Convulsions. Seizures. Fever. Head pain. Loss of Motor Control. Delusions. Hallucinations. Tachycardia. Arrhythmia. Unconsciousness. Sudden recovery.** And then he crossed out **Delusions** and **Hallucinations**, and wrote **premonitions** and **demons are real.** House sat with his back to the wall, unbuttoned his top button so the anti-possession emblem Sam had drawn by his collar-bone was visible, twirled his cane, and thought. He stared at the last two items on his list. They couldn't be real. Maybe this was just some crazy-ass throwback to his years of Vicodin abuse. Or maybe he was really drunk.

Even if it was just a hallucination, House never let a puzzle beat him. He frowned at the writing on the wall.

And then suddenly, a thought occurred to him. Where was Cuddy? He took off to Cuddy's office as fast as his leg and the demon uprising would allow.

XXXXXXX

"Oh thank God, Foreman, help me out here!" The anxiousness Thirteen had been holding back alleviated as she saw Foreman and Taub enter the room. She was applying pressure to the wound in the side of a young man, and needed help to bandage him and get him morphine and blood before he died of blood loss. Foreman cut through the mass of panicking humans and murderous demons, coming directly to her.

"Remy," he said, "Remy, Remy, Remy. Why bother? He's going to die. They're all going to die young. Just like you've always known you would. But you don't have to, Remy. You're coming to hell in a few years anyway. Why don't you join us now?" He smiled wickedly, and his eyes flashed. Thirteen abandoned the dying man, and ran.

XXXXXXXX

Sam had found some salt. Not much, but some was better than none. It was in a basket by the counter. 400 tiny paper packets holding a teaspoonful each. He ripped one open and flung the contents at a demon attacking an elderly lady. He tore another open.

"Really, Sammy? You think miniature salt packets are going to have an effect on us? Look around you, Sam. There is no escape. You have no silver. You have no salt. Dear old Daddy's diary is nowhere to be seen. And your heroic elder brother is noticeably absent. I bet at this very moment he is a having his intestines removed by one of our pets." The elegantly suited demon indicated to something across the room. Sam blanched. It was enormous, and pure black, but for the scarlet staining its razor-sharp beak and talons. Its feathers were ragged, eyes glittering with malice. It cast a shadow over the scene of destruction beneath it. As Sam watched, it cracked a head in its beak, sending brain matter flying.

A rush of pain assaulted Sam's head, and he clutched it, seeing red dots before his eyes and feeling his legs give out beneath him. _Come on, Dean,_ he thought, _now would be a really good time to save the day. If you come in now, I swear I will never complain about your music ever again. _

When the pain left him, and he could see once more, the room was engulfed in flames, the smell of burning flesh in the smoky air. Through the haze, he could see Chase gamefully shouting in Latin at a demon bird, waving his rosary and splashing it with holy water. A group of frightened people were clustered behind him, repeating the Latin in shaking voices.

Sam looked down at himself. The feeling that had been distracted from by the pain in his head had returned. He was tied to a pillar, and could feel the spikes of barbed wire digging into his wrists behind him. Several feet away, in a circle around him, fire crept inwards.

"This can stop, Sammy. You know that the pesky holy-water guy is not going to last. Your saw that birdie rip his lungs out. You can save all those people. Everyone in the hospital who isn't already dead. Yourself. Your brother Dean. All you have to do is come with us, Sammy."

Sam looked at the survivors, Chase finished his chant, and black smoke burst from a white-coated doctor, turning to fire and sinking through the floor. The bird exploded. "No," said Sam.

XXXXXXX

"What's going on?" asked Foreman dazedly. "How did you do that? I could feel it inside me and couldn't get it out..."

"Apparently spending a year learning Latin exorcism rituals has a practical use," Thirteen told him, handing him a bottle of holy water, freshly blessed using the rosary of a hysterical middle-aged woman who spoke only Italian. "Splash it in the faces of people with black eyes." She pulled out a marker and drew a symbol on his chest.

XXXXXXXXX

Dean and his group were lost. Amazing. Ten of them, and no-one could figure out how to get to the cafeteria. Not even someone who worked there. When this was over, he was definitely putting 'better signposting' in the suggestion box.

They were on the ground floor, and there, finally, was the exit, and outside, the impala. "Change of plans," he said, handing the toddler to a motherly looking nurse. "We're going outside."

He led them out through the smashed glass doors, and over to the Impala. "Oh, my baby, it's so good to see you," he told her, opening the trunk. He pulled out a sack of rock salt and poured a thick line in a circle around the car and his people.

"Do not cross this line. I'm off to save the world." He threw his duffel bag of weapons over his shoulder and walked purposefully back into the fray.

XXXXXXX


	12. Chapter 12

House opened the door to Cuddy's office. He'd had a job getting there, what with the building shaking and all the possessed people trying to kill him, not to mention the hysterical patients, visitors and staff who were completely ignoring emergency protocol. The looped instructions that crackled over the PA were no help at all – just a faintly annoying background noise that could barely be heard over the screams and evil laughter. Cuddy would be pulling out her hair. He liked to pretend that she did nothing, but she had put a lot of work into the emergency procedures. A black-eyed nurse he'd been hitting on only that morning was setting fire to one of the clinic's consultation rooms. He gave her the thumbs up. Finally someone was doing what he'd been dreaming about for years.

As poked his head into the office, he was struck by the sudden thought that if that nurse could be possessed, so could Cuddy. He cast the idea aside immediately. Any demon would take one look at Cuddy and run screaming in the other direction. The office was a shambles. Part of the roof had collapsed, coating everything in plaster dust and leaving a pile of broken ceiling in the middle of the floor. Bookshelves had fallen over, books and papers strewn everywhere. It broke his heart a little bit to see those great old volumes with their spines broken, torn out pages floating in the air. Cuddy, where was Cuddy? Probably running around trying to organise people. Why had he even looked for her in her office? He turned to leave.

"House?" He stopped. She was there. He turned back around, to see Cuddy's head peering out from under her desk. There were large chunks of plaster adorning its top, but appeared undamaged. Good desk, that.

"Have no fear, O fair maid, your rescuer is here!"

"Just help me out, House. My hospital is going to hell."

"What, you aren't going to express your gratitude by ravishing me here on this desk of all desks?"

House began to clear away the pile of ceiling that was blocking her exit from under the desk. It seemed that the ceiling collapse had been centred immediately over her chair. He smirked. She had no idea how accurate she'd been when she had said the hospital was going to hell.

"Stop staring at my arse, House," Cuddy snapped as she crawled backwards from beneath the desk.

"I just saved your arse. That means I get to stare at it as much as I want. Anyway, you like it."

House tore his eyes away from the fantastic view, glancing at the door. He saw a flash of blonde hair and purple scrubs, and fire leapt up in the doorway. Damn nurse. Didn't demons know better than to make cripples climb through windows?

XXXXX

Dean ran up the stairs. No time for exorcising anyone now, too much of the building was on fire, and according to the vague time frame he had managed to secure from Sammy's mumblings, Sam was currently being burned at the stake. He held a silver knife in one hand and the colt in the other. Stuff Dad's orders not to use it except on the Yellow-eyed demon, Sammy was about to die. He repeated the mother of all exorcisms he had found in his Dad's journal in the thirty seconds he had taken to read it before rushing off to save his brother. Hopefully he had it right. Sammy had always been more into the Latin thing than him.

"Dean Winchester. Good to see you again. It's too late to save little Sammy, though. We only waited this long so you could watch." Dean really didn't like demons. He stabbed it with the silver knife, and felt a little jolt of satisfaction as it drew back, wound smoking. The pleasure didn't last long, though, because that's when he noticed they were surrounding him.

XXXXXXX

"We've got your brother, Sammy-boy. Good and proper. He's going to die. Slowly. And painfully. Oh, so painfully."

"No..." moaned Sam, refusing to look at his brother, surrounded by demons. Ten, twenty, fifty demons around him. And there was the bird, all beak and talons dripping with blood. He concentrated on willing the fire away from his legs. He could feel his skin blistering as the flames wavered only inches away. The flames flickered and retreated an inch. Sam's nose began to bleed.

"Sammy, Sammy. All you have to do is come with us. We'll let him go. Scouts honour. How selfish can you be, Sam? Not giving yourself up for a crowd of innocent strangers, I understand, but not saving your brother? That's just mean. But then, you've always been selfish, haven't you Sam? You left him alone for years while you went off to have fun at college. And now you're just going to let him watch our birdies eat his intestines..."

The bird was looming over Dean, light from the fires gleaming off its beak. "Ok..." Sam started to say, but then he saw Dean lift the gun and fire. The bullet tore through the bird's skull, and it disappeared in a sudden blaze of flames, the shadow inside disintegrating to nothing. The whole room stopped, demons so shocked at the unexpected turn of events that for a second they couldn't move. Dean began to yell in Latin.

Sam recognised the exorcism. It was the most powerful one in Dad's journal. Sam had almost forgotten it, because they had never used it before. A second voice joined Dean's. Sam took back every uncharitable thought he had ever had about Dr Chase. A chorus of voices followed a second behind him. Sam could see the mass recitation having its effect. The possessed began to squirm, small plumes of black smoke squeezing out of mouths.

Demons don't go down easy, though, and two leapt on Dean as he shouted the worlds. Sam saw his knife flash, and the demons roll away, throats smoking. He raised his voice and joined in, the words returning to him, and yelled them with all the power he could dredge up.

And suddenly, it was all over. In a rush, black smoke spewed from bodies. The remaining demon-birds flashed out of existence, dragged back to hell.

XXXX


	13. Chapter 13

_The next day..._

"Sammy? You awake? How do you feel?" Dean looked at his brother curled up in the backseat of the Impala.

Sam stretched and sat up. His headache was gone. All he felt was exhausted and fuzzy-headed. The doctor with the limp had given him some _sweet_ painkillers for the burns on his legs. "Surprisingly good. You?" He said, getting out of the car to sit on the grass beside his brother.

"Not bad. A few bruises and stuff," Dean said. The whole left side of his face was turning interesting colours, where a demon had got in a lucky punch. "Beer?"

Sam took the beer, and they sat by a lake in the middle of nowhere and drank to the defeat of demons. Maybe this life wasn't so bad after all.

XXXXXXX

The hospital was almost destroyed. Cuddy hated seeing her baby like that. It was amazing all the damage an earthquake could do. And in New Jersey? New Jersey didn't get earthquakes. She was lucky to be alive. It was only thanks to House that she had managed to climb out that window and avoid burning to death. Where was House, anyway?

The fire chief was calling her over. She quickly finished giving instructions for what was to be done with the surviving patients from the geriatrics ward, and hurried over to him to find out the cause of the fires.

XXXXXXX

Thirteen, Chase and Foreman had been doing triage since the black smoke had soared out of the possessed and disappeared through the floor. The firemen had dragged them out of the cafeteria just before the ceiling collapsed, but all night had been spent performing emergency medical procedures on people who were carried from the building. Now, the flames were out. Usually, no-one would be allowed back in, but there were so many injured inside that the doctors had been permitted entry.

In the hospital foyer, Thirteen pulled a tourniquet tight on a young man's leg. It was not looking good for him. He was going into shock from the pain. She covered him in a blanket, administered a painkilling injection, and waved over some paramedics with a stretcher.

As she moved on, she saw Chase out of the corner of her eye. He was examining the eyes of a small girl, maybe three years old, who was crying for her mother. He took her hand and led her out the door to the nurses who were taking care of lost children. When they reached the station, the little girl wouldn't release his hand.

Maybe Chase had his good points. Good with kids, and the whole exorcism thing was surprisingly useful.

XXXXXXX

Foreman found Taub's body. It was lying protectively in front of a barely conscious young nurse, a knife wound in its chest. He took a few seconds to close Taub's eyes before taking care of the nurse.

He had always thought he didn't particularly like Taub. Now he knew he would miss him.

XXXXXX

House surveyed the wreckage of his office. There was shattered glass and broken books everywhere. The coffee-maker was broken. All the mugs had fallen and smashed on the floor. His laptop was broken, and everything from his desk was scattered across the room. But the office wasn't burnt. And there was his ball, reliable as ever, hiding under the desk. He limped over and picked it up. Returning to the outer-office, he righted the fallen whiteboard. He took out his marker, and wrote:

**VISIONS ARRYTHMIA**

**FEVER LOSS OF MOTOR CONTROL**

**PAIN WEIRD BLOOD**

**TACHYCARDIA MULTIPLE DEMON POSSESSIONS**

****


End file.
